autumn

i try not to play favourites, but i think autumn is becoming one of my favourite seasons, even though it is the season of waning life; proceeding the high and glorious summer; preceding the austere and deathly winter; opposite the verdant and fertile spring.

this year, i noticed the foliage a bit more than usual as they transitioned from greens to a supernova of reds and yellows, soon to degrade to purples and browns. there is something vaguely heroic about going out in a flourish of colour. mortality is best confronted behind a veil of tropes.

every narrative -- correction: successful narrative -- is imbued with the cyclical narrative of the seasons. case in point, the generic romantic comedy is comprised of four plot intervals: the incidental meeting, the burgeoning relationship, the catastrophic conflict, and finally the speech that resolves their rift, leading to happily ever after. it is named a comedy not for its humour, but for the resolution wrought by conflict and catharsis (remember how every Shakespearean comedy ended in marriage?).

of course there are other powerful narratives, such as the bildungsroman (the coming-of-age tale), or the Aristotelian Tragedy (similar to comedy, except everyone dies). every once in awhile we find ourselves in the middle of a narrative that has been played out countless times before by people all around us, and the people that came before us.

i am figuring out what story i am part of. there is no better time to do it than when the trees are bare and all the branching connections can be traced; before the snow sets in and covers it all up.